


Images in my Mind

by RollercoasterOdyssey



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Longing, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollercoasterOdyssey/pseuds/RollercoasterOdyssey
Summary: Eivor has always had a vivid imagination. It goes into overdrive when she's around a certain redhead.OR Eivor dreams of a life with Randvi.
Relationships: Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 76





	Images in my Mind

Eivor has always had a vivid imagination. She could remember being a child and telling stories with her father around the fire. Varin would listen and laugh, and would always say that Mímir had gifted her. She stopped telling these tales after his and her mothers death, but she could always get lost in her imagination, create a story or land to distract her from reality.

Child-like stories have long been absent from Eivor’s mind, but that doesn’t mean her active imagination has quieted. No, it has instead turned to more carnal visualisations.

\----

She can clearly remember the first time the image of Randvi, wanton and fervent, with Eivor’s name on her lips was conjured in her mind.

It had come unbidden, after a feast Styrbjorn was holding for some visiting Jarl. Eivor was sitting by Randvi, in place of the missing Sigurd, along with some fellow raiders. There was much mead and laughter, and many stories being shared. Holger had just finished a particularly crude tale that left the table howling with mirth as Eivor glanced at Randvi. There was light dancing in her eyes as she heartily laughed, and Eivor thought she looked so wild and carefree. If it weren’t for the finery of her clothes she would easily have looked like a wildling. Randvi caught Eivor’s gaze as the laughter died down, her eyes lingering, smile still on her lips. Heat rose in Eivor’s cheeks and a warm feeling spread in her stomach, neither of which could be attributed to the mead, she feared.

That night she dreamt of Randvi naked and beneath her, hands clawing at Eivor’s back as she begged for more. Sweat slicked bodies moving together until with a gasp of “Eivor” and a low moan it was over. And that same carefree smile graced Randvi’s face.

Desire and guilt burned through the drengr in equal measure. She’d tried to tell herself it was ok; it was the beer, the company, the festivities. A one off. A singularity.

It wasn’t.

She cannot erase the thought from her mind, and when she sees Randvi in the longhouse the next evening, the images come burning back, crisp and clear. The redhead waves, motioning for Eivor to join her and Eivor feels like a deer who senses the arrow seconds before it hits its mark. Eyes wide, she casts her head to see if there is someone else she can go to. Wishes it would be acceptable to just turn and run - but that would only exacerbate the situation.

So she steels herself - she is a mighty drengr after all, she can take on anything thrown at her - and walks toward her friend. 

Randvi smiles as the blonde approaches. “Hej, Eivor”

_“Eivor!” she moans the name, dragged from her throat in ecstasy._

The warriors eyes squeeze shut to try to rid the indecent image of the redhead from her mind. Gods this shouldn’t be happening.

“Eivor, are you alright?”

She opens her eyes to meet Randvi’s questioning look.

“Ah, just too much mead last night.” She tries to shrug it off and she sinks into the bench beside Randvi. She holds her head in her hands, and only looks up as a plate of food is slowly pushed to her. 

“You should eat, you’ll feel better.” Randvi reaches out to clasp Eivor’s shoulder briefly; a friendly reassurance accompanied by a soft smile.

Eivor’s eyes close once more. She knows well the threat of death chasing her heels on the field of battle, but she has never felt in more danger than in this moment. 

_Gods help me._

\----

More of these fantasies trickle into her conscious every now and then - after a smile or glancing contact. When they show no signs of stopping without aid, Eivor tries everything she can think of to end her thoughts. 

Perhaps it is just lust. That can easily be taken care of. But her own hand doesn’t dissuade the thoughts, and when she takes a neighbouring raider to bed she can’t help but imagine her hair is fire-kissed not brown, and her eyes emerald, not blue.

She joins a month-long raid, thinking the time away from the object of her unwanted thoughts will help. But when she sees Randvi waiting at the docks, where she always is upon their return, her heart races and she smiles unwittingly.

When she kills the biggest Elk she’s ever felled on a hunting trip, her first thought is to celebrate with Randvi. When the pair of them have to travel days to deliver a message she wishes the trip took three times as long, so as to linger in the redhead’s presence. 

It has been years now, and Eivor’s imagination still runs wild with thoughts of her brother’s wife. It’s been too long without him that she can almost forget that Randvi is the one person that Eivor can’t have. But then she hears that Sigurd has finally set sail for home and should reach Fornburg before the winter, and she burns with jealousy.

\-----

By the time the Raven Clan set sail for England, Eivor has long come to terms with her feelings. 

She is in love with Randvi

And Randvi is her brother’s wife. 

These are the two facts that govern Eivor’s emotions. 

She would do anything for Randvi; would trek the lengths of Niflheim to see her smile. But this all had to stop. Sigurd was her brother, who would build a great settlement for their clan with the help of Randvi. Eivor could see it now, the mighty drengr and his Jarlskona building a bright future together. Surly that had to quieten Eivor’s feelings.

Yes, England was a fresh start. 

\------

But England isn’t a fresh start. Sigurd leaves before the last cargo has been unloaded from the boats it feels, and it is once again Eivor by Randvi’s side. 

And Eivor’s fantasies keep coming.

She imagines taking her from behind in the alliance room, Randvi bent over the map table, breeches pulled just low enough to give Eivor access. The drengr’s fingers sliding into her, hard, fast, rough, drawing soft gasps from her red-haired lover. Randvi’s head arching back to rest against Eivor, while moans that could betray them are muffled in Eivor’s other hand which has settled lightly over Randvi’s mouth. It would all last a few short minutes, with the thrill of being caught and the sensation of Eivor’s fingers curling inside of her sending Randvi over the edge. Her emerald eyes would twinkle with mirth as she tried to pull her mouth into a frown. “Eivor, that mustn’t happen again, not here.” Eivor would quirk her lips, nod. Both knowing for a fact that that wouldn’t be the last time.

She imagines waking in bed to a Randvi dishevelled from sleep, red hair splayed on the pillow and a soft smile on her face. She would trace her fingers over the skin of her shoulders, her chest. Eivor never knows whether to imagine freckles dotting this skin or not, but she does know the look of desire that would cloud Randvi’s eyes as Eivor’s fingers ghost across her nipple. Soft, languid morning kisses would build into lazy morning love making, the kind that spoke of a couple that had all the time in the world to enjoy each other.

She imagines taking Randvi hunting, cooking their catch over an open fire out in the wilderness and laughing into the night under a star filled sky. Dancing with Randvi at great feasts, Eivor’s lack of coordination a source of great amusement to her partner. She could imagine what every moment of a life with Randvi would be like.

And that is all she can do; imagine. Years ago she would feel guilt each time she thought of Randvi like that, as hers. The guilt doesn’t come as often now, the excuses Eivor allows herself to soften the blow taking root. _It will never happen. Randvi will never know. Sigurd will never know._ These moments exist in Eivor’s mind alone.

Any time she can actually spend with the redhead she cherishes. Every time she disembarks the longboat at Ravensthorpe’s docks, her feet carry her straight to Randvi. And each time their eyes meet after weeks or even months, Randvi’s attention caught by Eivor’s approaching footsteps, the drengr’s heart fills and she knows she is home.

But as much as Eivor longs to spend every day by Randvi’s side, she is glad of her need to be out in the world, building alliances. For she knows, deep in her heart, that she cannot fight fate as the All-Father did. That she has it in her to betray the brother she loves so dearly. That Randvi is both her source of strength and her greatest weakness, and that Eivor is powerless to resist her.

\----

This day has been glorious and torturous in equal measure for Eivor. Seeing the stress ease from Randvi the further from Ravensthorpe they rode has in turn made her feel lighter too. Sharing laughter and conversation, the lust of battle and the merriment of the mead that followed. She would forfeit the promise of Valhalla to relive this day again and again. 

She’s glad when Randvi requests one more stop before turning for home; the fact that she too isn’t ready for the day to end brings a smile to Eivor’s lips.

Randvi knows how to pick a spot, Eivor thinks, as she reaches the top of the tower; the view is beautiful, as is the woman bathed in evening sunlight. Her heart aches for Randvi as she laments on the twists her life has taken, the politics of her marriage to Sigurd stripping any hope of wandering the lands as a Jomsvikingr. 

Before she knows what’s happening Randvi’s lips are on hers, hands curling in the furs of the drengr’s cloak as a heat Eivor has never known radiates through her; a heady mixture of not just lust, but love and longing.

And then it’s over. 

“What was that?” She asks, because she needs to hear that it wasn’t some impulse brought on by the mead. She sees panic flash across Randvi’s face at the question, the normally stoic redhead stumbling and stuttering over her apology.

“No need to apologise” Eivor tries to keep her voice as controlled as possible, hoping not to betray the fact that her heart is about to beat out of her chest. She cannot let Randvi feel bad for this moment, for this glorious, wondrous moment.

It seems to work, as her next words are calmer. “The heart does not do politics like the head.”

Eivor can feel her breathing quicken, but tries to keep her hopes in check. Randvi speaks of her heart as if it longs for Eivor too, but the conversation is too superfluous for her to be sure.

“It may be the mead, it may be the air. But there is no need to apologise.” Eivor speaks, hoping to push Randvi to either excuse or vindicate her actions. It seems to work as Randvi lets out a laugh, the noise filling the air.

“I am sober enough. But the truth of it is … I have felt this way for some time now.” Her emerald eyes burn into Eivor’s, resolute yet warm. “I care for you, Eivor.”

Eivor feels as though she’s taken a war-hammer to the chest, her lungs don’t seem to function and the world narrows down to a fine point, to the woman before her. Randvi’s eyes never leave her own as she waits for a response, desperation and hope burning in her gaze.

Eivor knows she has to reply, has to say something, but for all the thousands of times she’s imagined this moment, she can’t seem to find the words to speak. Can’t seem to comprehend that Randvi truly wants her too.

“That is…” She exhales as her face breaks out in a grin, eyes flickering away momentarily before snapping back to Randvi’s. “Comforting to hear. I have long felt the same way. But I banished the thought that this would ever happen.” She can hear the wonder in her own voice, and she longs to say more; to tell Randvi of all the times that she’s fallen in love with her over and over again throughout the years. 

It seems as though Randvi reads her mind as she speaks. 

“There were many times I wished to tell you. Wished to say what was in my heart and what I desired, but duty kept me from it.” 

Eivor could speak of her feelings for Randvi until Fenrir consumed the moon, but now, with her so close the usually silver-tongued warrior has lost patience with words. 

“Say all you like” Her voice has dropped, low and gravelly, as the heat rises through her. It takes every drop of willpower to stand and watch and listen as Randvi speaks; to let her finish when all Eivor wants to do is return to kissing her.

“You showed me your world. Not in words, but in deeds.” As she talks, Randvi steps forward, intimately close to Eivor now, and the time for speaking is truly over.

Eivor closes the gap between the two women, taking Randvi into her arms, her gaze flickering from eyes to lips, treasuring this moment, this anticipation before finally, _finally_ , kissing the woman she loves. 

It starts gently, with soft lips and tongues meeting, before Randvi lets out a strangled moan, her hand grabbing Eivor’s head and pulling her closer. Years of pent up longing are poured into the kiss as Eivor is ignited by desire; she wants, _needs_ , all of Randvi. 

The two surge into each other, the fervour building. Eivor has never wanted someone like this, has never wanted to claim anyone, to worship anyone as she does Randvi. Their soft moans are mingling now, as hands grasp for purchase, trying to get ever closer. They stumble this way and that, before Randvi’s back is against the moss covered wall. With something to lean on, her arms move to Eivor’s front, warm hands trailing down her neck to the clasp of her cloak.

“Randvi…” Eivor trails off, but knows the redhead can fill in the blanks. _Are you sure? There’s no turning back from this._

The answer she receives is the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen grace the redheads face, a blush from the kissing high on her cheeks and her eyes crinkling with happiness.

“Eivor, I cannot wait a moment longer for this.”

She completes the task of removing Eivor’s cloak, and quickly discards her own before returning to the drengr’s arms. Eivor’s lips move from her mouth to her neck, letting the small sounds of Randvi’s pleasure take wing, and as quick hands work to undo belts and buckles Eivor thinks it is the most perfect sound in the world.

\----

It is hours later, when the pair are wrapped under discarded cloaks, the full moon serving as their only light, that Eivor can finally accept that this has actually happened. This isn’t one of her fantasies, when her mind runs away from her. Randvi is here, beside her, bare and sated, her fingers lightly tracing the runes that litter the drengr’s chest. Eivor wants to commit every single detail of this moment to memory. Her hand ghosts across Randvi’s freckled shoulder, and a laugh bubbles in her throat.

Randiv meets her gaze, a smile on her lips and a question in her eyes.

“I always wondered if you were kissed with freckles beyond your face.”

The easy smile grows as Randvi’s eyes soften.

“I would have you know me inside and out Eivor. I am yours.”

Eivor is almost overwhelmed with emotion as Randvi places a last lingering kiss on her mouth, that echoes of promise and speaks of love. 

“Sleep, darling,” the redhead whispers, settling beside the drengr she’s loved for as long as she can remember. 

As Randvi’s breathing evens in sleep, Eivor closes her eyes, and tries to clear her mind. What had been fated has come to pass. She has betrayed her brother, laid with his wife. But the guilt she had imagined she would feel does not surface. Instead, her heart fills only with love for the woman beside her. People had always said she was touched by the gods, and if this was another of their plans, who was she to fight it? She does not know what fate the Nornir have woven for her, but she can feel in her heart that it has always been, and will always be bound to Randvi.


End file.
